No need for superpowers
by Tove Braddock
Summary: It has been ten years since Suzy and Sam Shakusky ran away together. Now their responsibilities have caught up to them, and Suzy is soon to have a child.


It had been ten years since they had run away. Ten years that had slipped away so quickly; they were still as madly in love as ever. For ten years ago, when they were twelve years old, the two troubled children had run away into the wilderness only to be caught. But now Suzy and Sam Shakusky were happily married, with a far more official contract than they had original been granted.

Suzy and Sam recline in two canvas chairs on the porch, relaxing under the gentle heat of the June sun. Faded paintings from Sam's youth hang disheveled about the light-splashed walls of the sunroom. Suzy is stretched out luxuriously on the broad canvas lawn chair. The sun's warmth permeates her soft skin, and she tucks her knees up as a prop for her book. Every once in a while, for old time's sake, she removes one of her old fantasy books from the dusty shelves that they live upon to reread. No other fantasy world was ever as perfect to her, though, as the Old Chuckataw Harvest Trail; her perfect Moonrise Kindom. She glances over to the wall, where perched upon yet another dusty shelf are her binoculars. Sleek and staid, they remind her of the times when she felt that she needed superpowers just to handle daily life. Sam is there for her now, and her binoculars are now just another painful reminder of her troubled childhood. She glances over the top of her book and looks at the man splayed on the chair beside her. Sam Shakusky is still as handsome as ever to her. Dark curls glance across his smooth forehead, his intelligent, soft-brown eyes framed by those unmistakable horn-rimmed glasses. She can still picture him in his Khaki Scout outfit; though boyish, she thought it rather dashing. He notices her looking at him and gives her his adorable dimpled half-smile. He reaches over and takes her hand. Giving it a little squeeze, he notices the book in her lap. "Bringing out the classics?" he inquires in his same lighthearted mocking tone. "Thought I'd reminisce a bit," Suzy replies. Still holding hands, the two gaze down from their porch to the sea below them. The ocean is perfectly flat, the tide must be out nearly a mile, and the glorious early summer sun dashes playfully over the gorgeous halcyon waters. Together they gaze upon the sand where they had there first dance; upon the rocky outcropping where they had camped as twelve-year-olds. This very beach was a sort of sanctuary, and as they gaze down on the shore it is almost as if they can see themselves, their child selves, basking in what glorious innocence their troubled backgrounds had alloted them. But now they know that such innocence and freedom will never be available, and time has come to receive them as the responsible adults who miraculously thrived off of such pain they experienced as children. Responsibility is crucial now, for soon they will have a child of their own. A smooth, yet still fairly small bump protrudes from the region in-between Suzy's swimsuit pieces; her belly is pulled taut. Breaking the silence, Sam gestures to Suzy's midsection and says gruffly, "what will we name it?"

Suzy laughs. "Human children are scarcely to be referred to as 'it,' Sam," she says teasingly. "If the child is a girl, I would like to name her Judith." Suzy takes in her husband's inquiring look and continues. "She was a heroine from one of my books," she explains, and Sam nods. As a child, Suzy had no friends save for Sam and sought solace in massive amounts of fantasy novels. Often she stole them, just to have a secret to keep. He is glad that she has overcome her problems; she is now a beautifully strong woman. Both are pensive for a moment, but Suzy breaks the silence by wondering aloud what to name the child if he is a boy. Sam stares at her for a moment, lost in thought. "Let me think a minute," he mumbles, and looks down at the beach below. He watches as his memory draws hazy silhouettes of his boyhood down on the sand. Their house is now perched a little bit above the outcropping on which their camp was once set up. He will never forget that adventure, and neither will Suzy. Suzy had truly been his only friend, and if their child was a boy, Sam wanted him to be the happiest boy alive. He is silent for another moment, then he bites his lip and begins to speak.

"If our child is a boy I want to name him Sam. He will live with us here and always know who his parents are, always have parents who love him. And he will have so many friends, and they will play together down on the beach. So I can sit here on my porch and hear the children saying, "We need you to play, Sam!" and "Come on, Sam, we can't start without you!" And that way, we can make up for whatever we lost as children."

Suzy bit her lip and looked down. She had always been aware of her own problems, but now she felt a deep pang of sorrow for Sam. Smiling a little, she replies, "Alright then. If the child is a boy we shall name him Sam." Sam nods his assent and the two retreat into a peaceful yet melancholy silence.

A small girl sits cross-legged in a clearing carpeted with moss. All around her great trees rise up and extend their sweet-smelling branches into the sky. Under the guard of all these strong trees, the girl feels safe. In one hand she holds a notebook and pencil, in the other a pair of binoculars. Her long, curly red hair is tossed by the gentle wind, and something sparks in her dark liquid eyes. it is apparent that this girl is so in love with nature, and nature clearly loves her right back. A crown of wildflowers, slightly wilted from the sun, rests in her hair. She stands slowly and makes her way to the edge of the clearing. The mossy bank gives way to a wide bay and a sandy beach. Above the beach is her house. She lifts the binoculars to her eyes and sees her parents sitting on the porch. She waves and sees them wave back, smiles lighting their faces. She removes the binoculars and smiles to herself. Turning around, she walks back over to where her notebook lies and picks it up. Flipping through scribbles, poems, hasty sketches of the gorgeous landscapes that surround her and occasional journal entries, she finds a blank page and begins to write.

_Samantha Judith Shakusky, happiest girl alive. _


End file.
